One More Miracle
by Kibasgirltsumi
Summary: Months have passes since the fall, and John returns home to an unexpected visitor. Reunion time.


It was raining. London was beautiful when it rained. The streets darkened mysteriously, and people became shadowlike as they raced by, huddled under umbrellas.

I had forgotten mine at home. I waited at the curb, under the eve of a dark café, hoping for a taxi. But I hated waiting. After a few cars passed, I bunched under my sweater and began the long walk home. I passed through Trafalgar Square. I hated that place now. So many people went through each day…some were bound to look like him. More than once, I had raced through the crowds and grabbed a tall, or curly-haired man by the shoulder just to realize it wasn't him. I'd always held out. Hopeful. Then desperate. What was taking him so long?

Then I decided that he had died after all, and I stopped chasing mirages. It was a relief, and also the most painful thing I had ever done, besides watching him being carted away after the fall.

I didn't live in 221B anymore. The flat was too large for me to afford by myself, even with the discount Mrs. Hudson offered me. Hell, she could have given it to me for free and I wouldn't have gone back there. It was horrible enough collecting my things.

My new flat was small and dull, reminiscent of my old one. I finally reached it, and had to climb the two flights of stairs upon reading a notice that the lift was broken. I trudged upstairs, stomping hard to relive some of the water from my shoes, and finally came to my door. I dug my hands in my damp pockets and found my keys. As I inserted it, a smooth voice said, "It's unlocked."

I froze; holding my breath. My heart began to beat wildly, after seemingly skipping a beat. I shut my eyes hard. No, I couldn't have been hallucinating. I was past that. "John. You're not hallucinating." The voice repeated. I opened my eyes and frowned. That same hint of sarcasm in every word…

I pushed open the door, and there he was. Sitting in my recliner with one leg propped up on his knee, and his hands folded together. He looked right at me, and I took a weak breath. His lips pulled towards a grin.

"How did you…" I started, and each strained word left my throat like a pained whimper. It hurt.

"Oh, it was easy enough to find your new address. Chase a few names, make a call." He shrugged. "The call wasn't very helpful at all, the girl just wanted to make small talk. I think she was the manager's daughter, not a true employee, and must have been terribly bored. It took a solid minute to get her back on track, and-"

"No…!" I finally uttered, desperately interrupting him. He turned his head slightly to the side, but kept those dark eyes fixed on me. I flexed my hands into fists, then stretched them open again. "Not how you found my new flat, Sherloc-" I had to swallow again. I was holding back something. Vomit, possibly, and speaking his name aloud was enough to cause the bile in my throat to churn. "Sherlock, how…how are you here?" I asked. He waited knowingly. "You died." I whispered. "I saw-…I saw you fall from the top of that building, and I saw you hit the ground-"

"No you didn't." He said, and even had the nerve to smile slightly. "You only saw me jump, not the actual moment of impact."

"But I saw your body lying there!" I shouted. My hands snapped into fists. "I saw you, covered in blood, eyes still open- I saw you _dead_, Sherlock!" I stormed over to him, and he stood smoothly. "You were dead! I went to your funeral and saw your grave…!" I choked up again, remembering that horrible moment.

Sherlock tapping his finger on his leg, then sighed.

"John-" His head whipped to the side, and the rest of his body twisted and he fell to the floor after desperately stumbling and knocking over my coffee table. I knelt down and grabbed him by the collar of his violet shirt. It was even the same _shirt_! Like nothing had changed.

"Don't." I said. "I've suffered for months because of you." My fingers cracked as my grip doubled, and Sherlock squirmed nervously. "And you've been alive all of this time." I breathed, and my sight was suddenly hot and blurred. I blinked hard, and I could see again- his expressionless face. Unblinking eyes…pale skin. Not a scar to mar his soft flesh at all. No signs of a fatal fall. "I thought I was-…someone you could tell that you were still alive."

"…It was for your own protection." Sherlock slowly said. "I had to disappear. I couldn't come right back to Baker's Street like nothing had happened."

"You should have let me know!" I shouted, eyes shut. I couldn't look at him any longer. Not one more second of those emotionless, perfect eyes staring back at me. I couldn't-

Then, a soft, warm hand touched my shoulder, fingers half on my neck. I opened my eyes, and Sherlock's were already waiting for me to look again. But they didn't seem so empty this time. They were slightly narrowed by his creased brow.

"How?" I whispered weakly. He moved his hand to my cheek, and smiled at me.

"One more miracle."


End file.
